His blonde, blue-eyed, nine-year-old daughter, the spitting image of her mother, rolled her eyes because, yeah, he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know.

“So who is this”—he wanted to say Bozo, but he didn’t want to make his daughter feel like she was being disloyal if she liked the Bozo—”guy?”

“His name’s Mark. He goes to Mama’s gym.” Great. Some muscle-bound doofus who probably didn’t have two brain cells to rub together.

“So . . . you like him?”

It was an important question. Georgia didn’t subscribe to the school of thought that kept her from introducing her dates to her daughter until she decided they were keepers. Just the opposite, in fact. If Eden didn’t like the guy right off, he got deep-sixed in a big hurry.

They were a package deal, Georgia liked to say, and both of them had veto power. It kept Sol from having to intervene in all but the most serious cases.

Sol watched his daughter’s face. She scrunched her mouth over to one side as she contemplated the question. “He’s okay, I guess. He’s kinda nervous around me.” Shit. That meant Doofus was smart enough to know Eden’s opinion mattered.

“So what are she and Mark doing on their date?” It was all he could do to not sneer Mark’s name.

“They went to the carnival.”

“And they didn’t take you?”

Eden shrugged.

“You didn’t want to go to the carnival with them?”

“Yeah. But I wanted to see you more.”

Sol’s heart swelled. His daughter had chosen him over a carnival.

“You know, those aren’t mutually exclusive events.”

“Huh?”

“That means you can do both. How’d you like to go to the carnival with your old daddy?”